[Verse 1: Ethic]
Who can oppose me?
Saliva that drips like Obie Trice
Got you open like the sex life of Kobe
We control the mic when I hold the device
Your girl’s looking twice at this lonely emcee
That’ll only fight for his homies
I’m nice with a poem and only write when I’m lonely
Take flight, ‘till Phil Knight wanna phone me
Ignite, yo I get hype when I’m zoning
Strike like I'm Ronin when I'm rolling
I’m good for two things: mood swings and explosions
At this moment, both are being tested
And moving to the exit's highly recommended
I’m a horrendous
Endless piece of action on a song
The question you never bothered asking
With the wrong outlook
But the right skills to flex in
I'll wreck a set with this crowd yelling Ethic

[Hook: Ethic] [x2]
I cypher in a cycle of psychoanalysis, with calluses
Chemical imbalances balance
With ballads of assault and battery
Battle with battering rams
Bats in the brain and a mic in my hand

[Verse 2: IAME]
Noc sun
Quick to go off like a cop’s gun
In the city where they pop nines, 'cause a stop sign got run
No hesitating
You brag about weight and ain’t got none
But if you ran as much as your mouth does
You might drop some
You know what we about
'Cause this where you got your plot from
With your lack of climax and resolution to your problem
This music keeps evolving, survival of the fit
But I’ma save my two cents
‘Cause I don’t buy into your shit

[Verse 3: Jon The Baptist]
This fire ignites
With the first sign of full moonlight
Nocturnal sun Shōgun with an insatiable appetite
To rip mics with rhythmic precision
To spit this pumped up poetry the good lord has given
John the Baptist has arisen to chop heads
Like swinged blades and guillotines
And beats are more addictive than sex, drugs and nicotine
More real than any shit that’s played on your TV screen
Getting you pumped up like steroids and creatine

[Hook: Ethic] [x2]
I cypher in a cycle of psychoanalysis, with calluses
Chemical imbalances balance
With ballads of assault and battery
Battle with battering rams
Bats in the brain and a mic in my hand

[Verse 4: Mo-B]
Cause I does what I does until I does it superb
I ain’t that white boy that raps who was raised in them ‘burbs
I’m that white boy that raps who was raised flipping birds
And in turn, what I looked and lived’s much different than yours
I was raised with those cats who would snatch up your purse
Take what you have to get what they feel they deserve
Then gung-ho, five-o, captain justice emerged
And through the smoke and mirrors
You could watch us disperse
It’s the gift and the curse of those who's born empty handed
And at first I wasn’t sure if I would be reprimanded
Stranded on the island of victim-less crime
Or in my basement just lamping with my halogen lights
Hallow be the herb when I'm stuck in the city’s maze
Where we run the risk of AIDS and the next bubonic plague
Money center stage, my seven digits found
Well, if you count the two that come after the decimal place

[Hook: Ethic] [x2]
I cypher in a cycle of psychoanalysis, with calluses
Chemical imbalances balance
With ballads of assault and battery
Battle with battering rams
Bats in the brain and a mic in my hand